No Bleeding Heart
by Eisenschrott
Summary: Young Lieutenant Piett's routine mission against a band of smugglers ends with an unexpected, less than pleasant encounter.


_Somewhere in the Axxila system, 14 BBY_

"Scans counted six lifeforms on board, and _I_ will be counting the corpses afterwards."

A bit of gruff laughter behind the helmets. Proper trained Imperial stormtroopers wouldn't allow themselves that. So much for anti-pirate patrol freshly absorbed into the greater galactic military machine: the ludicrously shiny new armours encased amateur vigilantes still operating on rampant provincialism and a laissez-faire work ethic straight out of Republic times. In all honesty, though, he was glad to hear his men laugh. If it warranted a scolding, that could wait until the debriefing.

"Just a reminder we need them alive for now." Lieutenant Piett cast a hard look over the boarding team assembled in front of the shut airlock. "Make sure you have your guns set to stun, one last time."

"Done'n done, sir." "Check, sir." "Aye, sir."

His own forefinger flicked on the toggle by the trigger. "Good." Louder, "Commence boarding!"

Off the airlock doors went, in the sizzle of a ion detonator. The interior of the pirate ship was dim, bathed in red emergency lights. The floor clanged beneath the stormtroopers' boots. Felt unstable under Piett, the steel alloy grid ready to give way—under the weight of hundreds of slaves this ship had transported over the years, the weight of their curses and prayers that it go down to pieces. Piett was no bleeding heart, yet he was inclined to agree with the ghosts here. _But wait until we're out of here and we can blast this garbage bin to stardust from a safety distance, won't you?_

"Over there!"

Blaster shots hit the ceiling well above their heads, and air hissed out of broken ventilation shafts. Backs to the walls, the soldiers fired back. Someone screamed.

"Forward!" called Piett.

They passed over the limp body of a Nautolan on the floor, still clutching the blaster pistol in his fist.

Piett kicked away the weapon. You can never be too sure. "Secure this one." _Five to go_. And even though two troopers were needed to bind the Nautolan and drag him to the cruiser, his team was double the numbers—and the guns—of the pirate crew.

They weren't far from the cockpit, when a scraping noise overhead made him halt and lift his blaster. One of the soldiers saw him and slowed down, but Piett nodded at him to go on. The noise came from inside a ventilation pipe, and it was going the opposite direction to the boarding team's.

He bit back a smile as he toggled the blaster back to kill, and fired at the pipe.

It came crashing down to the floor in a clatter of broken rivets, blocking half the width of the corridor. Piett set the blaster back to stun and aimed it at the small creature curled up coughing amidst the steel debris. Huge round eyes on a lizard face fixed themselves on him. "Please—"

The azure blast cut the plea in a half. The small alien sagged. Damn, the stun was standardised on Human physiology and probably too strong for an Aleena. At least it meant this one pirate had no chance in the nine hells to wake up for a while.

He legged it to catch up with his team.

"That goes down to the cargo holds," said his second in command, gesturing towards a hatch on the wall, then to the closed door where the corridor ended. "And there's the cockpit. Permission to knock before we blast it, sir?"

"It's not the best moment to be cheeky, Sergeant Aberoh."

"Good for morale, sir." The sergeant fished a detonator from his utility belt. "Though not as good as victory."

Piett forgave him the dramatic flair for the sole reason he was damn right. "Back off the door," he said, "and open fire as soon as it opens."

The first shots flashed in a dark mist of burned components smoke. Piett stepped into the cockpit with his breath held. Someone had cried 'surrender!' in Huttese. He understood the language, of course, but there wasn't any reason to tell his men to hold their fire. For now, anyway, they needed the scum alive.

Two bodies lay on the floor, curled behind the pilot and co-pilot's seats. A Togruta female and a Human one, both with guns in their hands. A stubbly teenaged-looking Pantoran male was flat on his face over the comm console.

"Aberoh, bind these three and leave someone to watch them. All the rest, with me to the cargo hold."

"Yes, sir."

The stench hit him hard in the stomach, the instant he picked the keypad lock and the door slid open. It wafted up the shaft of a steel ladder. Sodden and organic, wet fur and waste, a copper tang of blood, and sour vomit. Stars, had they locked up Wookiees in here and forgot them until they'd grown mould on their fur? Piett forced himself to breathe through his mouth and not to cover his nose, keeping to himself a sudden strong opinion on whatever power that be had decreed officers should wear open-faced helmets.

Aberoh and the troopers went down the ladder and levelled flashlights and blasters as soon as they hit the floor again. He kept close to the sergeant.

The hold was nothing worse and nothing better you'd expect from a slaves' pen. A bit above average, in fact, for no rotten corpse littered the place. Electrified collars and manacles lay in heaps on the floor; some flickered with residual charge. What a wretched crew is, one that cannot even take care of its own equipment?

"Hm. Take a gander at this, sir." Aberoh pointed his flashlight on a messy graffiti painted on the wall with... damn, he hoped it was blood.

Aberoh scratched the chin of his helmet. "Any idea who or what 'Lasan' is, sir?"

"Some planet. Whose populace smells bad, evidently."

"I reckon everyone would smell bad in this place, sir."

Piett glared at him, the effect quite assuredly lost in the flashlight-cut darkness.

"Just hope it doesn't stick for long."

Was he imagining it, or Aberoh sounded more tired than he'd been before the boarding—

A clang and the cries of _stun it!_ made him spin on his heels. Two stun blasts hit the wall, flashlights cast a tiny figure, bent so low it almost ran on all fours, dashing away.

Only for a soldier to jump out of the shadows and tackle it.

"Lil' son of a Hutt," Piett heard her say to the squirming creature she held pinned to the floor, as he walked up to see the last crewmember for himself.

 _Short. Could pass for a Human child._

In the circle of cold flashlights, the tiny pirate raised his head, a tangle of black hair, blew strands off his face, sucked in breath, and said in what was unmistakably a Human child's voice, "Your mum's a Hutt!"

That face and that voice, and that rage at any shade thrown at his mother, was just as unmistakably—

"Haidar?"

The child glared at him, but didn't stop squirming. "Uncle Firmus!" The scowl morphed into a smile that showed off teeth and braces. "Hey, you care for telling the bucketheads we're family, so I can give you a hug?"

"Not sure I get this, sir," said Aberoh.

"The boy's my nephew, and I haven't a bloody clue why he's…" _Here_ died on his lips. A slavers' ship cargo hold—what else could he be doing here but being a prisoner? The thought made his skin crawl. But why was he not restrained? And why had he run? A prisoner's first instinct is to cry for help, not to try and flee from his rescuers. It sure wasn't the first time Haidar saw stormtroopers.

"Ma'am, you heard him!" the child interjected. "You're breakin' my arm. Bet your officer won't like that."

Piett shook his head. "Let go of him, Trooper."

The soldier obeyed, and the instant Haidar got on his feet, Piett pinched his left ear and wrenched it.

"Uncle, what the hell—"

"Hold your tongue, boy."

He stood still, staring up at him, teeth gritted against the pain. _Just realising this is serious trouble_.

"How in blazes did you get on a pirate ship?" asked Piett.

" _Smugglers_ ship." Haidar cocked an eyebrow. "There's a difference, y'know."

Aberoh laughed croakily. "Quite the spitfire, eh, Lieutenant?"

"You have no idea." Pray the kid was smart enough to appreciate the comment wasn't along the lines of: _it's not after my side of the family that he took_. "We're done here, Sergeant. Gather up everyone and let's go back to the _Smiter_."

"Yes, sir."

"Is that your ship?" asked Haidar, his filth-stained fingers prying at Piett's. "That cruiser what attacked us?"

"Us? Are you part of this crew?"

He shut his mouth, clacking his teeth.

It was meant to scare the little hooligan into silence, and yet, the implications of that scenario downed at once on Piett, too. His lungs filled with a kind of dirty that had nothing to do with the foul smell.

#

The Togruta woke up first. Tried to tinker with the stun cuffs, got shocked and cursed a blue streak, the brig sentry heard that and brought her out for interrogation.

By a stroke of luck, she happened to be the captain.

The soldier shoved her to sit down at the opposite end of the small table from the man her glower classified as 'poncy-arse Imp officer scum'. A moment later she noticed the scruffy thing sunken into the chair next to Piett. "The Empire's taken up arresting children now, Lieutenant? Wasn't there a younglings' rights charter for that or something?"

 _Thus spoke the slave-trader_. "The Empire isn't happy with pirates who take up abducting children, Captain Kangto."

Her jaw dropped. Pointy fangs gleamed in her mouth, stark white against the ochre skin. Piett had to steel himself against a flinch.

"What in the nine hells? Look, Lieutenant, I have no idea who that kid is—"

"No idea how he climbed into your ship, either?"

Her eyes shifted to Haidar, who had the good grace to keep mum. "Okay, in all seriousness, who are you?" Haidar just swung his legs under the table.

"What we found in the cargo hold," Piett answered. "Or rather, what we found _still alive_ in the cargo hold."

Kangto raised her bound hands. "I don't deal with that sorta merchandise, sir! What're you thinking? I've got a son, too."

It was always the worst ones that got to reproduce. You just had to look at Haidar's father—if the cad was still among the living. "We know. I'm sure the picture in the Security Bureau databank doesn't do him justice." It was something quite different from maternal pride that made her whip her head and stare at him again. "But then again, he was very young when the holo was taken."

After one too many speechless seconds, she forced out a smile. "ISB crapped on you, Lieutenant. I never had children. Was just trying to earn pity points."

"It's safe to assume he must've grown into quite the pretty lad by now." Piett leaned over the table. "If something happened to him—"

"Okay! Fine! I'll tell you everything! Just… leave Amadi alone."

Piett sat back slowly, careful not to let even a trace of _gotcha!_ show on his exterior.

"Blast it all anyway." Kangto looked away with a grimace. Those sharp teeth flashed again. "Verrua the Hutt doesn't pay enough for this. Pinned a real poodoo crew on me, too; they couldn't even catch a kid stowin' away."

Haidar looked up with a sharp nod.

"Trooper, take the child away," Piett ordered. The boy followed the soldier out of the room without a word.

"No big expert on Humans, but I reckon there's a likeness," Kangto said in a quiet voice. "Yours?"

"No," he blurted before he could catch himself.

Kangto shrugged. The binders let out a soft frizzle, and she grunted in pain. "Well, look—no one in their right mind takes up this shit work 'cos they like it. I needed creds. For Amadi and myself." She straightened up, her chin high, and with affected calm brushed a non-existent speck of dust off her blue-streaked headtails. "Where was your almighty Empire when my old manager gave me and seven hundred like me the boot overnight, hm? And had the gall to tell a fourteen-years-old girl to put on a miniskirt and hit the sidewalk, 'cos that's what Twi'leks are best for?"

 _I needed creds_. Everyone's favourite excuse. "What is that you were saying about Verrua the Hutt, Captain?"

#

"The rest of the crew's awake, sir," reported Aberoh. "And making noise."

"Yes, I heard it."

"Which one do I send up for grilling?"

Piett waved a dismissive hand. "Captain Kangto provided a true wealth of information. I doubt they could possibly know more."

He could picture the sergeant's face beam through the helmet. "Out the airlock they go, then?"

"I would be happy to agree with your suggestion, but it's better we keep them shackled up and let the planetary detention service decide what to do with them." Piett checked the chrono on his wrist: forty minutes until scheduled landing. "By the way, how's the child doing?"

"Kava's babysitting him. He's got kids of his own, I figured he knows a trick or two to tame the monsterlings."

The problem was, Haidar had no father of his own, and knew a scary great deal more tricks than 'one or two'. Piett stepped into the common room with a bit of dreadful expectation clawing up his throat. The soldier sat on a bench, helmet at his side and blaster on his lap; from the few words Piett caught, he was explaining how the power packs worked. He wiped the smile off his face, put the helmet back on, and sprang to his feet on attention; Haidar peeked from behind him, and brought a hand to his forehead in an exaggerated salute.

"At ease, Trooper. You may go."

"Yes, sir."

A pout formed on Haidar's face as he watched Kava, and his cool murder toy, leave.

"You owe me an explanation, young man."

Haidar pulled up his legs on the bench. Whatever filth his shoes had picked up on the pirate ship, it smeared the sitting surface. At least, the kid seemed to have washed his hands. In the silence that followed, Piett began regretting he'd sent Kava away so soon.

"This isn't a game. What was that about? Why did you sneak into that ship?"

Pouty silence. At last, "I was bored outta my arse at school."

"Are you going to kiss your mother with that mouth, when I take you back home?"

"No, I'm gonna kiss yours."

"Your grandmother? Good luck." He allowed himself a smirk. The kid must be wishing he had a functioning blaster at hand now. It wasn't all that different from questioning captives. "She would beat all that foul language out of you. And I wouldn't blame her."

"Let her try. Wanna bet I run faster? Ten creds?"

It was Piett's turn to glare in silence. "Was it for a bet that you—"

"I ain't telling who, but my pal owes me forty creds. 'Cos it was smugglers, they didn't see me, and I made it to space." Haidar shrugged. "Well, it's thirty creds, but I got arrested, and we didn't imagine this. I think another ten creds are fair and square, no?"

There it was, what he was fighting for. The people he was hell-bent on bringing peace and safety to. Galactic youth, the future of the Empire. Right here. Some damned bright future. The stars knew how Captain Kangto's brat was like, but Piett was almost willing to bet forty creds he couldn't be any better than Haidar.

Sighing, he sat down where Kava had been—just a bit to the side, to avoid sitting on the muck trails of Haidar's shoes. The boy narrowed his eyes and hunched his shoulders. _Don't look at his shoes. He would notice, and kick all over your uniform for the hell of it_.

"I take it you like blasters?"

He flinched. Caught by surprise. "Yeah."

"And what do you think of my ship?"

He glanced 'round. "Figured it was bigger."

"Yes, ships are always more cramped than one imagines."

"Did you sink the pirate ship?"

The word shift from _smugglers_ was not lost on Piett.

"I heard a boom a while ago," Haidar went on. "I thought it was the ventral cannon. Made the floor shake, y'know."

"Dead on."

Haidar groaned. "I missed the explosion!"

"It was nothing spectacular."

"Maybe for you. You see one every day, huh?"

Piett didn't answer. The boy stared at him with a slight quizzical bend to his ruffled head. Then he grinned. "So cool—"

"I needed to capture those criminals alive, you know?" Piett cut in. "That's why my strike team bothered with a boarding. I could have just blasted that piece of junk to stardust any. Given. Moment."

Haidar's eyes widened as the scene of his death played out in his mind, in all its awful closeness. The kid was a fast learner.

"That's right. This is why your silly little adventure didn't cost you your life. I hope it serves as lesson." Piett got to his feet. "For scolding and ear-pulling, you have your mother."

"Naaah, she'll just say I got what I deserved, like my pa." The smug smile was back on his miniature mirror image of old Caleb Sarkli's mug. "Hey, uncle, I've got an ISB record too, now? Like the son of the pirate lady? Y'know, a cool databank file that goes all: Haidar Sarkli, age eleven, charged with skiving off school, stowin' away, and piracy."

For a crazy instant, Piett was tempted to tell him he hadn't known Captain Kangto had a son until her breakdown, and the rest was scaremongering stuff he'd made up on the spot. "That is classified information." On the threshold, he turned and waved a finger at the kid. "Get your feet off the bench. You're catching too many bad habits." The door slid shut behind him and the feisty reply. Good stars, the last thing the galaxy needed was to be inherited by the shitty adults that younglings like Haidar would grow into.

* * *

Author's note: This was a prompt response, first published on tumblr. All background information is a mishmash of stuff I read on Wookieepedia and my imagination playing god.

Piett's nephew, however, is not exactly a blank. Old EU only named him "Sarkli"; he appeared for a fraction of second in RotJ and got the part of treasonous bad guy in one of the _Rogue Squadron_ games. My Haidar Sarkli is, well, a bit different. Still grows up to be a spy, anyway. Shitty adults, QED.


End file.
